


darling, dearest, dead.

by sapphfics



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Post Episode s02e4: Day of Wrath
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-07
Updated: 2017-09-07
Packaged: 2018-12-25 00:44:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12024510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sapphfics/pseuds/sapphfics
Summary: "I -" Clary stammers. Victor asked her to give a speech celebrating her mother's life, as if she doesn't know the crowd is sitting there glad Valentine's bitch is dead, and silently hoping Clary will be next.Or: Clary and Luke, after Jocelyn.





	darling, dearest, dead.

Luke watches the video. Everyone watches the video. They show it on the screen for the entire Institute to view with absolutely no regard for the emotional frailty of Jocelyn's loved ones. (Emotions cloud judgement. What bullshit.)

Alec isn't punished and Luke knows he never will be. He was possessed and he's a Shadowhunter male, after all, and there are so few. Even with Jace out of prison, he's still the eldest Lightwood, the only one that The Clave has faith in restoring the honour back to his family's name. 

Besides, Jocelyn fell in love when she was seventeen and scared. Therefore, she deserved what she got. 

They only bother bringing Luke because Clary barely looks alive, and they hope maybe having her around someone familiar will make Valentine's spawn less likely to snap and kill them all. Not that she would. Ever. The idea that the members of the Institute think so little of her makes Luke want to tear this place to shreds.

He can still smell the blood from where they removed the body. 

Clary holds his hand and tries to appear stoic, biting on her lip until she draws blood. When you're a Shadowhunter you've got no excuse for weakness. But if you're a Downworlder, the Shadowhunters consider you helpless to your impulses, and think almost nothing of it. Luke allows himself cry, where everyone can see him, because nothing else but Clary and his pack matter now Jocelyn's gone for good.

Luke reaches into his pocket and clutches the box holding what should have been Jocelyn's engagement ring, and closes his eyes as Alec stains his hands with her blood. 

When the video is over, and the hall of supposed justice is empty, Luke and Clary walk up to the monitor and smash it to pieces.

* * *

"Luke?" Jocelyn looks up at him, eighteen and petrified. "When I die, I want us to be buried side by side."

"What are you talking about?" Luke asks, as she runs a scratchy washcloth over his wounds. "You're not going to die. I won't let it happen. We're going to win. With Valentine, with all of us together, we'll take the cup and change the world for the better. I know it."

"I'm still here, don't worry," Jocelyn says. "I'll stay with you, as long as I can and after that."

They both know that the Clave is more evil than any creature either of them have ever killed, and they are always scared. You get used to it. 

"But they won't let me be buried by you," Luke states, Jocelyn grips his hand and he winces. "You'll be in the tomb with Silent Brothers."

"Well," Jocelyn says, as he gets up. "I guess we'll have to be buried the mundane way."

Luke kisses her as though he can stop time itself.

* * *

"Clary," Alec says, awakard, as he studies another dead body, another person Clary couldn't save. "I...I'm sorry for your loss."

Clary whips around. She hasn't dropped her seraph blade since Simon let her go.

"Thank you," She whispers. There are so many things she wants to say to him, but if she let herself she will be seen as the monster everyone thinks she is. The apple doesn't fall far from the tree, or so they say. "It...it wasn't your fault."

She almost wishes her father would have killed her mother when she was in a coma. But he gave her false hope that she could be safe here, and ripped it away. Clary will never make the same mistake again. 

* * *

It's been a week, maybe, possibly. Without Jocelyn to keep her steady, Clary's lost almost all concept of time.

Surprisingly, Magnus hasn't broken up with Alec. She's glad of it. Despite everything, Alec is her friend and she wants him to be happy. Maybe Magnus has finally found a love that will last a lifetime. Even as a child, Magnus always seemed lost to her. Maybe Alec is his compass or something. It's sweet, the kind of love she wishes she could let herself have. 

Magnus sits next to her at the funeral, holds her hand, tells her _it's going to be okay_ , and suddenly she's six years old again and terrified, her mother long lost, unreachable. Clary wants to vomit. She almost asks Magnus to take away her memories again, but even if he did, she's pretty sure she'd always have a piece of her missing, rotting in a tomb surrounded by men with stitches for eyes.

"I -" Clary stammers. Victor asked her to give a speech celebrating her mother's life, as if she doesn't know the crowd is sitting there glad Valentine's bitch is dead, and silently hoping Clary will be next.

She pictures Luke watching her somehow, giving her an encouraging smile as though he were cheering her on at a recital as if her mother's corpse wasn't beside her. 

They applaud. She's not sure whether they are applauding for her lousy speech or for Alec for getting the job done, as he sits in the front row and doesn't meet her eyes.

Clary assumes both. 

* * *

 Clary can't sleep alone anymore, not with her bedroom so close to the chalk. Clary finds herself at Luke's place.

The rest of the pack either ignore her or send her sympathetic glances that Clary's never sure they mean or not.

It doesn't matter. Nothing really matters anymore. 

Clary quietly opens the door and slips inside, and Luke tries to smile at her. He can't, but she can hardly smile back either, and she appreciates the effort.

"They asked me what I wanted done with her -" Clary tears up right there, and smacks her closed fist against the table until she stops being so pathetic. Being a Shadowhunter means being dead inside, and she would rather be that than remain like this forever. "Did Mom ever say what she wanted done with her remains?"

"She said she wanted to be buried like a mundane," Luke says. "So she and I could live side by side in this life and the next."

A ghost of a smile flashes across Clary's face. "That's beautiful."

"Yeah," Luke agrees. "Your mom really was."

"Come on," Clary grabs his hand. "Let's go."

(Afterwards, they come home and sleep with seraph blades under their pillows and mundane baseball bats beside their beds.)

**Author's Note:**

> This was written at the beginning of the year, immediately after Jocelyn was killed, as I suspected I wouldn't be happy with how the grief was handled. As anticipated, I was not, so I decided to re-upload this. I apologise if it's not very good.


End file.
